


Healing, Part One

by lea_ysaye



Series: There's No Waking From The Horror [5]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Rickyl, Stomach Ache, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 18:44:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_ysaye/pseuds/lea_ysaye
Summary: O gather up the brokennessAnd bring it to me nowThe fragrance of those promisesYou never dared to vowThe splinters that you carryThe cross you left behindCome healing of the bodyCome healing of the mind- Leonard Cohen, Come Healing





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I let my desire to write about medical things run wild in this one. Not too icky though, mostly just sad.

Rick and Daryl are in the back of an old Chevy. They’re on their way to the Kingdom, and Tobin is driving. At almost the last moment their plan had changed. It was going to be Aaron, Jesus, Rick and Daryl going to the Kingdom. Aaron was going to bring Eric back to Alexandria, Jesus would go on to the Hilltop to bring news to Maggie, and Rick and Daryl were going to stay on at the Kingdom, to get Daryl the help he needs.

But last night word came from Maggie that a huge herd had come upon them, and that something about it felt like a trap. Rick wanted to set off for Hilltop immediately, postponing their other plans. They were all gathered in the corner house, and Jesus spoke first.

“We need to find out details,” he said. “We need a plan, a strategy. We need to know if this changes our tactics. Until then, nothing can be done.” He looked to Daryl, who was sitting at the kitchen table. Rick’s eyes followed, and a stab of guilt pierced his heart. How could he have considered putting something else before Daryl’s wellbeing yet again? Daryl was pale and silent, tense at the prospect of not getting a chance to tackle his demons after all. He had fought with all his strength to get to this point. Had it been for nothing?

Rick took a deep breath. Hilltop wasn’t life or death right now. They have many capable, willing friends who will do their part. Rick doesn’t have to shoulder every single burden himself.

Jesus continued, “I’ll go to Hilltop. I know the place, the people. I know all the weak spots. And I’ll send word, here and to the Kingdom, as soon as I can.” His eyes flicked again to Daryl, then to Rick. “You’re leaving tomorrow, as planned.”

So here they are. Tobin has taken Jesus’s place. He’ll be in the meetings with Ezekiel, then travel to Hilltop, then back to Alexandria. They have a whole network of these messengers now, and the system works well. Tobin is a good, reliable man, and Rick feels confident that he can do the job. And for now, all his focus has to be on Daryl. Last night in their room they didn’t talk about the trip. Daryl had barely said a word all day. By the time Rick came to bed he was fast asleep.

The reason for his diminished energy, and his increasing withdrawal, is depressingly familiar. For several days, his digestive troubles have been getting worse again. Daryl never complains, never even mentions it, but he’s looking more exhausted and pale than he has since his escape. Last night, for the first time in over a week, he jerked awake and had to make straight for the bathroom with a whimper and a curse. Only when he was safely back in bed Rick went to make the bark tea.

Now Daryl is staring out of the window, holding himself stiffly. Something is up. Rick tries to hold his tongue, and for a while they ride quietly. But when Daryl starts shifting restlessly Rick moves a little closer. “You alright?”

Daryl shrugs. “’s okay.”

Rick hesitates, then reaches over and clasps Daryl’s hand on the leather seat between them. Daryl doesn’t look around, but his fingers tighten on Rick’s. They feel clammy.

“Ya got any water?” he asks quietly.

“Course.” Rick reaches into his bag, which is sitting in the space by his feet. He pulls out a bottle, unscrews it and hands it over. Daryl takes it. His hand is shaking.

“You need us to stop?” Rick asks. Tobin’s eyes catch his in the rear-view mirror.

Daryl shakes his head in between sips of water. “’s okay,” he says again.

It’s most certainly not okay, but Rick knows Daryl well enough not to argue the point. “Why don’t you catch some sleep?” he says instead when he takes the water bottle back.

“Yeah, alright.” Daryl gives a jerky nod, then tries to wriggle into a more comfortable position. Rick reaches over again and unbuckles Daryl’s seatbelt. Daryl gives him a sideways glance. Rick shrugs. “Risk worth taking.” The belt has been cutting into Daryl’s aching belly all through the drive, but of course Daryl didn’t even consider making things easier for himself.

Daryl’s eyes are soft, and a little wet. “Thanks,” he murmurs. Then he curls up, resting his head against the window. His arms are tightly wrapped around his middle. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out as he falls asleep.

Rick leans forward in between the seats. “Everything quiet out there?”

Tobin nods. “Totally deserted. This road has been cleared well.”

Aaron glances past Rick. “Is Daryl okay?”

Rick shrugs. “Been better.” He lowers his voice. “Tobin, we need a rest stop soon. He’s trying to ignore it, but his body won’t take much more, and there’s nothing he can do to stop this from happening.”

Tobin looks around sharply. “Should I find somewhere now?”

Rick considers with a glance at Daryl, whose face is pinched, but still for the moment. “Ten, fifteen minutes maybe. He’ll be angry anyway, but I’d rather we stop before he’s paralyzed with the pain.”

“You got it.” Tobin nods. They all know what they’re looking for. Somewhere with a semblance of privacy would be ideal. After about five miles Tobin slows down and comes to a halt near a concrete shed by the roadside. Rick sees the logo of the local electricity company on the front. Aaron locks eyes with Rick. “We’ll check it out.”

The two men get out of the car and, weapons drawn, slowly approach the crumbling power shed. Rick stays with Daryl.

The hunter didn’t wake when they stopped, and it takes him another few minutes before he begins to stir. For Daryl to be so deeply asleep isn’t normal. He definitely isn’t well.

Finally, he sits up and rubs his eyes, and stretches with a wince. He looks around, then at Rick, his expression hurt. “We stoppin’ for me?” His voice is flat.

“Yes,” Rick says. What’s the point in beating about the bush? “I knew we’d have to soon, so…”

“Told ya, ‘m okay,” Daryl interrupts him. Then he groans and presses a hand to his belly, biting his lip.

“You’re not okay,” Rick says quietly. “Why make yourself suffer when there’s no need?” He wants to say more, wants to tell Daryl how much it hurts him, Rick, to see his lover in so much pain. But he can’t. He can see the pain in Daryl’s eyes as they flit to him, and next moment they cloud over as the cramps really take hold.

“Oww,” Daryl whispers, curling up. Then, cursing, he’s fumbling with the door and is out of the car, his hand still clutching his belly. He hurries past Tobin and Aaron, who are coming back from their reconnaissance, and vanishes behind the crumbling building.

Tobin climbs into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. “He didn’t appreciate your solicitousness, I take it?” he says to Rick, eyeing him in the mirror and frowning.

“He’s really not doing so good right now,” Rick says quietly, feeling the apologies run thin.

“Suppose he’s not,” Tobin murmurs, then falls silent. Rick catches Aaron’s eyes in the mirror next, and they are full of sorrow and sympathy.

“He’ll be better soon, Rick.” Aaron’s voice is gentle. More loudly he continues, “We checked the perimeter. All clear.”

“Thank you,” Rick says.

After that, they wait in silence. Rick can’t forget Tobin’s question. It’s true, Daryl is impossible to handle right now. He’s prickly at the best of times, but to anyone outside their closest circle his behavior must seem ungrateful and childish. Carol will have told Tobin some of what’s going on, but Rick gets it, that the man finds it hard to understand why everyone is going to such lengths to help their hunter. Of course, it’s impossible to explain. There are no words for what their Atlanta family means to each other.

Rick doesn’t even notice how tense he is while Daryl is out of sight. Only when he reappears from behind the concrete structure and slowly staggers back towards the car does he allow himself to relax again. Daryl clambers back into the back seat stiffly and leans into the creaking leather with a shudder. Rick pulls another bottle from his bag. “Bark tea,” he says.

Daryl takes it, his sunken eyes dark with misery. “’m sorry,” he mumbles.

As Tobin starts the engine and the car bumps its way back onto the road, Rick briefly squeezes Daryl’s knee. “It’ll be better soon.”

They travel on through the heat of noon, the air conditioning on full. Both Aaron and Rick offer to take over the driving, but Tobin declines. All but Daryl eat the rations they brought. Daryl still sits curled up in the corner, sometimes dozing, sometimes staring out of the window. He doesn’t speak, barely reacts when Rick hands him the water bottle. They stop once, briefly, to stretch their legs and empty their bladders. Daryl stays in the car, asleep again. At least he doesn’t seem in distress at the moment.

The sun is just setting when they reach the outskirts of the Kingdom. Daniel, the guard on horseback, greets them and escorts them through the gate into the Kingdom proper. They park the car near the walls and get out.

“The king says he’ll see you now, if you want a word,” Daniel says. “But if you would rather go straight to your rooms then he will greet you in the morning.”

Rick doesn’t even need to glance at Daryl, who is barely upright, and still holding on to the car. “We’re grateful to be given the choice, and will see Ezekiel in the morning,” Rick says. “Please thank the king for us.”

Daniel nods. “As you wish.”

At that moment a familiar voice calls, “Rick!”

Rick looks past Daniel and sees Morgan come down the front steps of the nearest house. Morgan nods at Aaron and Tobin, and glances in Daryl’s direction with a frown. “This way,” he says, not losing time and gesturing down a nearby path. “I’ll show you where you’re staying.” He looks at Daryl again, then at Rick. “It’s not far.”

Daryl seems hardly aware where he is. Rick goes over to his side and picks up Daryl’s small bag. They both packed light and he can carry everything easily. “Morgan’s gonna show us our room, buddy.”

Daryl nods mechanically, and lets go of the car. They bring up the rear, Rick slowing his steps to stay by Daryl’s side, in case his last bit of strength deserts the hunter.

They really don’t have far to go. Inside a nearby building, Morgan leads them up a short flight of stairs. Daryl is struggling now, clutching the bannister and breathing hard. Rick hovers, he can’t help himself. To his surprise Daryl catches his eye. “Gonna be glad ta be lyin’ down,” he gasps. His eyes have a feverish glow. Rick fights the urge to put his arm around the hunter and help him the rest of the way.

Morgan stops at a set of double doors. “This is the long-stay ward of the infirmary,” he explains. To Aaron he says, “Eric is in the last room on the right.” Then he turns. “Rick and Daryl, you’re on the left, opposite them. Bathroom’s in between. It’s shared by the whole ward, but it’s right next door.” He gives Daryl an apologetic grimace. “Best we can do, I’m afraid.”

“’s no problem,” Daryl says quietly.

“It’s just the four of you, anyway,” Morgan continues. “We only set this floor up a short while ago.” Now his look is grim. “Planning for the future.” They all know what Morgan means. This war will make a proper hospital more necessary than ever, and soon. But for now, this is a haven of quiet, and Rick is grateful for the luxury of privacy and a little peace.

“Will you thank Ezekiel for us, please?” he asks Morgan, who nods.

“Of course. Tobin, you’re in the men’s visitor quarters, with me,” Morgan continues. “That okay?”

“Sure is,” Tobin says. Morgan turns to the three new residents of the hospital ward.

“Someone will bring you dinner in a little while. The rooms should have everything you need, but just ask if something is missing. There are people on the ground floor, they’ll be happy to help.” Morgan nods at them one last time. “Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns and retraces his steps. Tobin follows.

Rick glances at Daryl, who is swaying slightly. He puts a hand lightly on the hunter’s arm. “C’mon, buddy.”

Daryl totters down the hall, with Rick and Aaron following behind. Aaron bids them goodnight outside Eric’s room. Rick reaches past Daryl and opens the door to their bedroom.

A soft glow comes from a lamp on the bedside table. The room isn’t big, but it holds all they will require. The double bed is neatly made, with a colorful quilt covering it. Daryl walks over and sits down on the mattress with a shaky groan. Rick places their bags on the two chairs by the small table in the far corner. He rummages for a moment in a side pocket of Daryl’s bag, until he finds the little pill bottle Tara has given Daryl. The IBS medication doesn’t seem to do much, but it’s all they have for the moment. He pours a large glass of water and carries both the pills and the glass over to the bed. He sits down next to Daryl, who shakes two pills into his hand, puts them in his mouth, then reaches for the glass.

“You should go to bed right away,” Rick says quietly, and Daryl nods.

“Can’t believe ’m so tired. Slept all day, for fuck’s sake,” he says. “Man, I hate this.”

“I know, buddy.” Rick so badly wants to put his arm around his hunter, pull him close and soothe the misery and pain from him. But he doesn’t dare. Instead, he just gently squeezes his thigh.

Daryl’s face suddenly creases with discomfort. Rick hastily takes the water glass and pill bottle from him, and Daryl wraps his arms around his middle. “Ugh,” he wheezes, then is up and out of the door.

Rick sighs and gets up, too. He unpacks their few belongings, hangs spare clothes into the closet and puts other essential items on the table and by the bed. They’ll be here at least a couple of weeks, according to the arrangements Jesus has made for them. Then he stands by the window and stares down into the deserted alleyway next to the hospital.

When Daryl finally reappears, he is very white. Without speaking he strips off his boots and pants clumsily, and finally unbuttons his shirt, too, which is soaked in sweat. Bare chested and only in his underwear, he crawls onto the mattress with a groan and curls up under the blankets, with his back to the window and Rick.

Heart aching worse than ever for his hunter, Rick collects Daryl’s discarded clothes from the floor and folds them over a chair. He lines up Daryl’s boots neatly underneath it, then sits down in the other chair and waits. Daryl finally stops shivering and falls into an uneasy sleep.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. Rick quietly gets up to open it. Morgan is outside, with their dinner on a tray. He takes in the situation with one glance. Lifting his chin, he indicates the table, and Rick steps aside to let him in. Morgan puts the tray down, then indicates that Rick should follow him outside. Rick carefully pulls the door closed behind them.

“I couldn’t go to bed without checking on you again. He’s no better, then,” Morgan says without preamble.

Rick shakes his head. “Not really. He was alright for a while, but whatever this is, it keeps coming back. No pattern any of us can see. His body never has time to replenish the energy he loses during a flare-up, and every time he comes out of it he’s a bit weaker. And this one now, it’s a killer. The car journey was torture.” He rubs his face. “Had I known he would be in such a state…”

“But you had to bring him here, so he can get proper help. For everything,” Morgan says. “It was the right decision, Rick, regardless. If you want, the doc could probably come over tonight and have a look at Daryl.”

Rick shakes his head. “Thanks, but no. He’s on the edge already, he needs some time to get his bearings. A stranger prodding at him tonight won’t help. He’ll need to sleep off this day.”

“Get him to eat some soup, at least,” Morgan urges with a frown. “It’s chicken soup. One bowl is mostly broth. I brought corn bread and butter for you, but the cook has put some crackers on the tray, too.”

“Thanks, Morgan. For everything. You’ve been a great friend.” Rick stops, fidgeting a little. Morgan senses his unease.

“What else do you need, Rick?”

“When he’s like this, I make him tea. It’s a recipe from Hershel…Maggie’s dad. I brought it along, it helps with the cramps.”

Morgan nods his understanding. “I’ll find you a kettle. Mostly the electricity is okay, but if it goes, they have a small kitchen with a gas stove downstairs, too.”

“Thank you.” Rick suddenly feels an overwhelming need to tell Morgan everything, to talk about his fear, the anguish he feels as he sees Daryl’s suffering, the half-suppressed conviction that they will never again be what they were before Negan took Daryl. But he can’t, not yet.

Morgan senses some of it nevertheless. He claps Rick on the shoulder. “You did the right thing to come here. The doctors are good, they’ve dealt with trauma for years now, and they’re rediscovering treatments for all kinds of ailments. Daryl will be fine. You’ll see.”

Rick can only nod. Morgan squeezes his arm briefly. “Go eat your dinner. You look exhausted, too. I’ll be back soon with the kettle.” He turns and walks down the corridor.

Rick returns to the bedroom. He stands for a moment, watching Daryl’s still form. The hunter has hidden his face under the blankets, and only his tousled, slightly sweaty hair is visible. Rick dreads having to wake him. Daryl needs to eat, but Rick already knows how this will go. Daryl will force down a few spoonfuls of soup, white and tense-looking. The hunter hates disappointing and frightening Rick, and in his misery just makes Rick hurt more.

With a sigh, Rick carries Daryl’s soup bowl and the crackers over to the bedside table. Then he crouches down and puts his hand gently on Daryl’s head.

“Hey, buddy, wake up. Dinner’s here.”

As Daryl stirs groggily Rick hopes that Morgan will find a kettle. They’ll need that bark tea tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hi Daryl, please come in. My name’s Joel.”

Daryl shakes the proffered hand and looks around the consultation room as the doctor closes the door behind them. The room, at the very top of the hospital, is bright and airy. It’s quiet here this morning. Like most of the hospital, the fifth floor, divided into small consultation rooms, has only recently been set up.

Joel motions to the chair in front of his desk, and Daryl sits down. The doctor takes the chair opposite him and opens a file that’s lying on the table. He looks at Daryl sincerely. His eyes are green and friendly, his face is clean-shaven and he reminds Daryl of someone. “Is it okay if I take notes?”

Daryl nods. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Joel gives him a smile. “Before we start, I want to explain my plans to you, so you know where I’m at. Then I’ll ask you a bunch of questions, but we’ll take it slow. Oh, and you ask me anything you want to know whenever, okay?”

Daryl nods again.

Joel looks a little embarrassed as he continues. “I talk a lot, for which I want to apologize right now.” He considers Daryl and adds with a deadpan face, “You’re more the strong, silent type, aren’t you?”

Daryl feels a grin steal onto his face, something that hasn’t happened in a while. He likes the doc. Now he knows who Joel reminds him of: Aaron, who also talks more in a day than Daryl finds necessary for most months. Both Aaron and Joel have important things to say, so Daryl doesn’t mind. As long as all he has to do is listen. He shrugs, still grinning slightly. “I guess.”

“That works, then, because I talk for two.” Joel’s smile is mischievous, but then his face returns to seriousness. “Okay, preface: In the world before I was a psychiatrist. You know what that means?”

Daryl nods a third time. “A doctor who becomes a shrink after med school,” he says, then adds quietly, “Had a friend who was a psychiatrist. She died.” The thought of Denise makes his heart hurt, and in response his gut clenches angrily. He winces and presses a hand on his belly.

Joel frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Daryl breathes. It’s true, he’ll be okay for a little bit.

“Just in case,” Joel says, “Bathroom’s third on the right, down the way you came, okay?”

Daryl nods mutely. He needs this to be over, he needs this doctor to know what he’s doing. Joel gives him a long look. “I’m very sorry about your friend, Daryl, and about everything else that’s happened. We’ll talk about all that, once you’re not feeling so wretched anymore, okay?”

Not trusting himself to speak Daryl just nods again. His instinct tells him this doctor is good people, and for the first time since their horrible car trip the day before he feels that it might’ve been worth coming to the Kingdom.

“On that note,” Joel says, “I should probably clarify something. In this room, everything you say to me is confidential. Far as I’m concerned, that’s not changed just because the world ended. But I feel I have to be upfront with you, Daryl: Eric, and Jesus, too, have told me a few things about you. Your symptoms, and what happened to you, and I listened very closely. I want to apologize for that indiscretion.”

Daryl can tell this is important to the doctor, but he doesn’t really care. “’s really okay,” he mumbles. What does it matter if someone talked? They’re his family.

“Well, I’m glad I had some time to prepare, in any case.” Joel sounds relieved. “My med school days are long past, and when it comes to anything below the neck my skills are a bit rusty. But I’ve read up on your symptoms, and I’m pretty sure I have some useful ideas.” He leans forward. “We’ll get you feeling better, and then we’ll tackle the psychiatry side of things, okay? That’s where my real expertise lies.”

“Sounds good,” Daryl says, and it really does.

“Alright.” Joel stands up. “Hop onto the bed for me a moment.”

He points at a tall examination gurney. Daryl does as he’s told. He doesn’t exactly hop onto the bed but has to clamber up awkwardly, he’s just too weak. As he stretches out, his belly gives another twinge. Rick made him eat some gruel for breakfast, and now Daryl wishes he had refused. He’s starting to feel sick.

“Can you open your belt and your pants for me?”

Daryl fumbles with the buttons, his hands are shaking. Once he’s managed the tasks he drops them by his sides, and wills his insides to be quiet a little longer.

Joel frowns down at him. “You’re looking pinched. Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

“’s okay, really,” Daryl says, hating the constant repetition of those words.  

“I promise I’ll be quick.” First, Joel listens to Daryl’s belly and his gut with a stethoscope. “Is it only diarrhea?”

“Usually, yeah,” Daryl says. “Sometimes, I feel real sick, but not like I’m gonna puke.” He doesn’t let his mind go back to that moment in the cell, when Dwight pushed the Polaroids under the door. He can’t, not now, not ever…Daryl closes his eyes.

A sharp pain suddenly slices through him as the doctor presses on his lower belly. Daryl flinches, and his eyes fly open.

“Sorry, Daryl.” Joel takes his hands away quickly. “I just want to take your temperature. You’re still okay?”

Daryl nods, but bites his lip. The doctor puts the little nub from the thermometer in his ear, and Daryl waits impatiently for the beep. When it comes he rolls over and staggers to his feet, holding on to his open pants so they don’t slide down to his knees.

“Sorry,” he manages before rushing from the room. The hollow, gnawing feeling in his gut tells him he only has a minute or two.

When he returns to the office ten minutes later, on shaky legs and feeling exhausted, Joel is back behind his desk. He points to the chair Daryl sat in earlier. “Sit down before you fall down,” he says.

Daryl does as he’s told, not really having a choice in the matter. Joel’s saying sounds like a very accurate prediction of the future.

There’s a glass of water on the table before Daryl, and Joel now puts two pills next to it. “Take these, and drink all the water.”

Daryl eyes the pills nervously and doesn’t move.

Joel sits up. “Right, sorry, that was patronizing of me.” He points at the pink one. “That’s just Benadryl. It used to be sold over the counter, not much to it. But it’ll really help with the cramps. And you can take a few a day and they won’t hurt you.”

Daryl nods slowly, and Joel carries on. “The white one is codeine.” Daryl throws him a confused look, and Joel explains, “It’s going to help with the pain, but the amazing thing is that it’ll stopper you right up.”

To his own surprise, Daryl gives a soft laugh at the doctor’s words. Joel grins, pleased with his joke. “Opioids slow down the movement of the colon. Sometimes, people get constipated instead, so we need to be careful. Your gut’s all over the place right now, and we can’t let it get too used to the drug. But for a few days you’ll be fine with the codeine.”

There’s an odd feeling in Daryl’s chest. He recognizes it only after a few seconds. It’s hope. “Thanks, doc.”

“The codeine will make you drowsy. After this one here, only take one before you go to bed.” Joel smiles. “You’ll sleep like a baby.”

A weight Daryl hadn’t even realized was there suddenly vanishes. “Can’t even remember the last time I slept through the night,” he says. “And I been keeping Rick up, too. And no matter how many hours I’m in bed, it never feels like I got any sleep.”

“Your temperature when I measured it just now was 100.2,” Joel explains. “You’re running a low-grade fever, probably have for quite some time. No wonder you feel constantly exhausted.” The doc leans forward and pushes the pills a little closer still. “And you’re losing large amounts of fluid, and your gut isn’t healing. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still upright.”

“Barely,” Daryl mumbles.

Joel looks at him intently. “Take the pills now. You’ll be surprised how quickly they’ll work.”

Daryl holds the doc’s gaze for a moment, his instinctive mistrust briefly overwhelming. But he already knows Joel is one of the good guys. His gut might be fucked up right now, but his gut instinct tells him he can trust the doc. And he needs to learn to trust again, might as well start now.

He picks up the pills and puts them into his mouth, then chases them with a few gulps of water. He puts the glass down and listens to his insides for a few heartbeats. So far, no alarm bells.

Before he came upstairs this morning, Daryl had promised himself to ask the doctor one question, so he takes a deep breath. “What…what do ya think is the matter with me?” He stops. The next bit is even harder. “D’ya…d’ya think we can fix it? Me, I mean?”

Joel is still leaning on the table, considering his words before he speaks. “I can hardly speculate what man-made horror did this to you, and before we get into what happened, I think you need to be a lot stronger.” He waits for Daryl to nod his assent, then continues, “Whatever the cause, you’re definitely suffering from a chronic inflammation of the bowel.”

Daryl makes a face. “Gross.” He thinks for a moment, then asks, “Why does it come and go, though?”

Joel shrugs. “Without a lot more sophisticated equipment I can barely even guess. With the usual forms of IBD, like Crohn’s Disease, there are usually episodes of remission, and then flare-ups. Even before, when we had access to specialists and tests and machines it wasn’t completely clear what caused it, and treatments didn’t always work.”

Daryl suddenly realizes something. He puts a hand on his belly. The rumbling in there has almost stopped, and the gnawing sensation is much fainter.

Joel smiles. “You already starting to feel better?”

“Yeah,” Daryl says, amazed. “That was quick.”

“It’s the codeine. It’ll give you a nice buzz, too. That’s temporary, though. Codeine fights the symptoms, not the cause.” The doc pushes a small bottle towards Daryl. “This does, though.”

The label on the bottle reads _Orapred_. Joel explains, “It’s a corticosteroid, it reduces inflammation. As I said, usually I would’ve ordered a whole battery of tests, and referred you to a specialist. But we don’t have that luxury, so we’re cutting right to the chase.”

Daryl picks up the little bottle. “That’s it? Just pills?”

“If you want, there are other ways to administer steroids to your colon.” Joel grins, giving Daryl a meaningful look. It takes a moment before Daryl has worked out what the doc means. He winces.

“No thanks.” He’d rather not have _that_ go up his backside.

“I didn’t think so,” Joel says, laughing. “Anyway, steroids are also for short term use only. They can lead to serious complications if taken over a longer period. But I think we have a good chance of getting rid of this. Your IBD isn’t caused by an autoimmune disease. Your body just needs some extra time to heal itself, and for you to get your energy back.”

He pushes two more transparent bottles over the table, one with pink tablets, one with white. “Benadryl and codeine. Benadryl you can take one with every meal, codeine, just stick with one before bed. And tonight, take one of the Orapred with your dinner, and then one every evening with your meal.”

“Alright. Thanks a lot, doc.” Daryl pushes back his chair and gets up. Before he turns toward the door he hesitates. “When’re we starting on…the other thing?”

“Come back in three days, at 10am, and bring Rick, too,” Joel says, and also gets up. “Until then, rest. Drink plenty of fluids, eat small meals, and often. Oats are really good for a disturbed GI tract. Go easy with white bread, and also with fresh fruit. No coffee, and no alcohol.”

Daryl nods. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Joel says, as they walk to the door. The doctor stops once more, with the hand on the door knob. “How’re you feeling about the future now, Daryl?”

Daryl considers, then gives a little smile. “Real good,” he says quietly. “Hopeful, like. Thanks, doc. I’ll see ya in three days.”

*

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Rick is coming up the stairs of the hospital just as Daryl steps through the front door. It’s a nice, warm day, though not as boiling as the last few have been. It smells of fall.

Daryl takes a deep breath, enjoying the sensation of the sun on his skin, and of being nearly pain free. “Hey, Rick.”

Rick stops at the top of the stairs. “You been with the doc all morning?”

“Yeah. Sorry it took so long, was gonna come and find ya now.”

Rick waves the apology away. “No matter, we’ll have plenty more meetings, and soon.” He rubs his face. “I’m glad to be out of there, anyway, it was getting very tactical. Never mind that, though. You alright? You look a bit flushed. And your pupils are tiny.”

Daryl smiles and nods. He’s feeling really good. Just a bit tired; it’d be nice to take a nap soon. But there’s something else Daryl wants first. “Probably the codeine. I’m fine, much better than I was. Hey,” he starts, but suddenly feels unsure again.

“What, buddy? Tell me, whatever it is.” Rick’s quiet voice sounds so sad, Daryl suddenly feels guilty again. He has to do this, he can.

“Come with me to see Shiva?” he asks. “I…I wanna tell ya what the doc said.”

“Course I’ll come.” Rick’s smile makes Daryl feel better again. He returns the smile, and takes a step towards the stairs. Suddenly he staggers, and Rick catches him.

“Hey, you sure you okay?”

Daryl nods, but remains where he is, leaning into Rick. “Yeah. Codeine’s made me real floaty, is all. And I could really do with lunch, I guess.”

That makes Rick chuckle. “Tell you what. Let’s go by the mess hall first, grab a bite to eat, then say hello to your kitten friend. Sounds alright?”

“Sounds great.” Daryl sighs and leans his forehead briefly against Rick’s. Rick holds him tightly for a moment. Then he straightens up and turns Daryl gently towards the stairs.

“Alright, one foot before the other, that way,” he says, half mocking. “Hold on to the handrail.”

Daryl huffs, but does as he’s told. They walk slowly down the stairs, then along the nicely tended street towards the building that holds the communal kitchen.

For the moment, it almost feels like they’re back to how they used to be. They’re not touching, but walk close together, in tune with each other, without a need for words or gestures.

It feels like they have a chance now. They can fight together, they can start to heal. They’re _together_ , and they’re not giving up.


End file.
